


The Most Beautiful Man in all of Darre

by The Prettiest Boy in Darre (Scottyottyotty)



Category: The Inheritance Trilogy - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: F/M, M/M, Matriarch society
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scottyottyotty/pseuds/The%20Prettiest%20Boy%20in%20Darre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bieva is the next in line to be ennu, the figurehead to her people. The relieve some stress, a few friends spring to take her out to a sharing house. A house filled with men who will share their bed with any woman who asks. Bieva is mortified. If she is seen, then her mother will not hesitate with punishment, but she can't help but enjoy herself. While there she meets the most beautiful man she has ever seen and has to have him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Most Beautiful Man in all of Darre  
Chapter 1

The setting sun painted the sky an array of color so beautiful, Yeine herself would stop to admire it. The stone of Sar-enna-nem, the great rise of a temple, took on the pinkish orange hue as a testament. Twilight would settle over Darre soon. Proper clanson’s would be ushered indoors by protective sisters or fussy fathers. Strong mothers and women would be returning home from long days of trading, blading, or labor. The temple will surge and swell with all kinds. The last for the worshippers for the dayfather, along with the first for the Gray Lady. Many would simply move over as time progressed. Sar-enna-nem had always been a home for the Three. Many of the Darre respected each of them equally and had prayers for them all, but some still held favorites. Twilight and dawn brought more parishioners than day or night, but that was to be expected.

Three cloaked figures waded through the crowded temple. Passed the floors of priests and up to the topmost floor, into the worship space. The mosaic tiles were dotted sparingly with ancient statues of godlings, some long dead. Quietly sweeping through the worshippers of Yeine and to the secluded, nearly empty corner reserved for the Nightlord. Here, as darkness crept over Darre, worshippers of Nahadoth caused small instances of chaos. A fist fight in the dark. Men shedding their robes, offering themselves to any woman who would have them. The God of chaos demanded the oddest praise, and there were always those willing to give it. Three women, each smothered in black cloaks and clanging with armor underneath, huddled together in wisp of shadows that gathered as night descended.

“Why are we here?” Said one of the women, clearly annoyed and not trying to hide it.

“I swore an oath, and I will see it through till the end,” another woman answered, doing a poor job of holding back a laugh.

Two sets of eyes rolled beneath their hoods.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t change our armor.”

“Because they love to take care of warriors where we’re going,” she said with a playful bang on her nervous friends chest plate.

“How long is this going to take? I can’t be gone this long.”

“My gods, Bieva, if you’re this frightened you shouldn’t have come,“ the third woman blurted. “Apologies,” she quickly amended. “We removed you from all list and spheres. It’s the last day of Warriors Training, you more than any of us deserve to enjoy it.”

Bieva sighed to herself. The quick flare of anger she felt at being yelled at went away with the same speed. Angusu was right, she was worrying too much, not that she could help it. Her mother made sure that she triple checked herself at every move, a quirk that would serve her well, if she were to be ennu one day.

The older women were already watching her, whispering to themselves. Bieva was a fine warrior and she knew that. She had to, as any warrior would trust in their own skills. Far was Darre was from its day of war, but the way of the warrior had not died just yet. Bieva and a few squads of others trained in the old ways, just beyond the proving grounds, as to maintain a wealthy Darre’s standing army. She had come a long way in the few years, yet her skills were not what they whispered about anymore. She was growing, and as Darr she needed to marry and have daughters.

None of the prospective men her mother suggested had suited her. Or suited her just yet. Bieva did not know why she faltered on choosing a husband. There was nothing wrong with any of the boys she met with. All of them draped in the finest cloth imported from Semn, with long black hair. Some were even pretty, a few pretty enough to override the idea that he was a stranger. As she mulled it over in the corner of Sar-enna-nem, waiting on Nialni’s contact, she understood it a bit better.

Any man she would marry now would be a stranger.

It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to take a man she didn’t know, or even like, to father her children. Many of the women from the training yard had a husband chained away in a spare bedroom, only to be ridden when she so pleased. Bieva wanted more. She wanted more from a husband than children. She wanted partner to share in her life. To help her, comfort her. After combing through tariffs, taxes, and state issues with the Warriors Council for hours on end, she wanted to come home to a friend. Not some pretty little clanson that had nothing to say. Bieva wanted to court her prospects, take her time, but she felt rushed. Her mother pressured her into a decision daily, the council, even her prospects looked down on her to choose. She couldn’t, not yet. So when Nialni suggested a night away from the training yard, Bieva pounced on the opportunity. A night in the city of Arrebia with her close friends. Though, she was starting to have second thoughts.

Nialni bristled, excitedly getting her friends attention. An old man, all angles and thin planes, spryly trotted into the the shadows, moving steadily toward them. Nialni stepped out to greet him, sliding a jingling leather pouch into the elderly man’s waiting palm. She raised her chin, looking back at her friends, and nodded them over. Without a word the old man turned and started out of the temple. Bieva followed behind Angusu, who slowly trailed behind Nialni. She could tell that Angusu was having the same second thoughts she was, but she’d never admit it. She was stubborn, but her honesty more than made up for it.

The light had faded from the sky for the moondown was soon approaching. They rode the wave of people who would skip the prayers in the dark to Nahadoth out of the temple. They followed the main streets for a while, until the old man slipped down an odd side street behind the temple and followed into the lower town that rested in the pyramids shadow for a good portion of the day. Old buildings lined the streets, people coming in and out of them in a weak stream.

Orbs hung like lanterns from strings high on the buildings edges, casting an orange yellow glow on the dark streets of the little square Bieva jogged into. The old man was still swift as a boy, and allowed no sightseeing of the lesser Arrebia that Bieva never explored. The people became much different from what they knew of Darre. The men wore considerably less than the robes Bieva was used to seeing them in. Their hair pinned up in ostentatious configurations. The women spat and drank in the streets, occasionally eyeing them with something less than respect.

Angusu gasped and stopped short as they rounded a corner and came upon three wooden row houses. She turned, facing her friend, her features drawn tight in the weak glow of lantern light. “She’s taking us to the sharing houses,” she whispered to Bieva as she drew up to her.

“By the brightest of hells, Nialni, a sharing house?” Bieva said in the best hushed whisper that she could muster at that moment. So it came out more like a scream.

“Oh stop it, the both of you,” Nialni said, with no mind to her booming voice. She was still happily bouncing on the balls of her feet. She signaled to the old man to wait for them as she started up the steps to the first row house. “Neither of you are good little father’s girls. Show me your Darr! Where’s the woman in you?!

“We all need to blow off some steam. So I say, we go in here,” she pointed over her shoulder at the unassuming row house, “and do everything to these men a good clanson would frown upon. We’ll be better women and wives because of it.”

“None of us are married,” Angusu sighed. Her face looked more forgiving than a moment before, but she remained rooted to the spot she had stopped.

“Then maybe you should stop playing with your prospects and choose one,” Nialni said, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

Angusu and Bieva both drew back, by her abruptness and something else.

“You’ve chosen a husband then? Bieva asked.

“Cieum mau Essum tai wer Lecis,” she said proudly. “And to be a good, knowledgeable, wife, I’m going inside. Come in when you get your heads on straight,” she turned and marched up the steps.

“She’s serious,” Angusu huffed. “Cieum mau Essum,” she said softly after a long silent while in the dim street.

“One of yours too?” Bieva asked, seeing that the news of Nialni’s betrothal took more out of her friend than she was letting on.

“These boys just peddle themselves out to anyone don’t they?” She grunted, a sharp, angry sound.

"I don’t think it’s that simple, Angusu,” Bieva said, hoping her voice sounded comforting and not as awkward as she felt. “Maybe you did…dawdle on choosing a husband.” She let out a huff of air, laced with disrespect. “Take your own advice, friend.” Angusu eyed the sharing house, kicking her foot against the ground. With a sudden rush of determination, she stalked toward the the row house.

Left with no one to talk her out of it, Bieva went inside as well.

The stilted wooden house was nothing to look at from the outside. The wood was not the dark wood of the forest outside the city, but a weak, graying with age, cheap import. The inside was extravagant; to Bieva’s surprise.

The entire first floor was dedicated to comfort. Plush sofas and chairs ringed the room, some big enough to support a few wide backed women, enjoying long haired men in linen pants and no robes, whispering things to make them smile into their ears. More robeless men strutted through the room, some with drinks to serve, others escorting a smiling woman up the wooden staircase to another floor. Bieva felt a flush of embarrassment, which spurred her mind into rapid thought.

What if I see someone I know?

I know everyone.

My mother will kill me where I stand.

Bieva felt a chill start at her crown and ripple chillingly down her shoulders. A smiling man slipped around her, her cloak still in his hand, he slinked the cloak the rest of the way off before Bieva could protest. He had a mouth like an ornate hunters bow, his perfect teeth beaming as his mouth slowly curved into a smile. He was dark as darrewood shellacked in honey resin. A brown on brown that whipped itself into a smooth complexion. His eyes were the color of a newborn fawn, with flecks of umber and mahogany. Those winsome eyes held her, as her cloak was handed off to a passing man and hung in a closet.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his voice a low growl in her ear, just over the string quartet that filled the perfumed air with music. “No need to be, medre.”

“I…I’m not,” Bieva stammered. He was just as robeless and shirtless as the rest. The smooth brown of him was taut around a strapping frame. She tried to divert her eyes, ignoring a rising in her gut that she refused to explain to herself, but rather ignored. “I came with friends,” she said after a moment of looking at anything but the half naked man in front of her.

“If you mean the two that just came in, they are being taken care of quite well, medre, so let’s talk about you.”

Bieva squirmed, no longer able to ignore the warm flutter moving south of her gut she silently cursed herself and her traitorous body. Her eyes darted around the room, only half heartedly searching for her companions. A few foreign women, mostly Amn, mingled in with the giddy Darr. But Angusu and Nialni were nowhere in sight. Bieva assumed they must have been escorted upstairs already. She sighed to herself, there was no one left to talk her out of anything. She reminded herself to give Nialni an earful.

He took in her uncomfortable expression, never dropping his smile, but dropping his hands and taking a step back from Bieva. He held his beautiful head to one side, studying her from top to bottom, his tied up hair wobbling. He darted away, jarring Bieva further, across the room to an old woman, old as the man they had followed there, but with an important stance that merchant women adopted. Bieva had decided she was an important woman after all, removed from the crowd and half watching the going-ons around her. After a quick whisper in her ear, she flicked two fingers at him and shrugged. He flashed a grin at Bieva and stood to his full height. His slippered feet padded across the carpeted room, into the center. He held up his arms, swirling his wrist around, signaling all the unattached men to him. No, not all, Bieva realized, but one willing participant.

Another man, dressed the same with his hair tied up into a different but still interesting up do, stepped forward. They circled each other, moving with finesse and agile feet. Once circled and positioned in front of each other, they each brought up one arm held parallel to their faces, and bowed deeply to each other. Bieva pushed into the room, curious at their funny little dance. It was beautiful, and respectful. A touch more intricate than a dance. The two men began to swirl around each other, coming close to contact, but never connecting. The preoccupied women took their eyes off of their temporary pretty boys and paid attention, even some men watched, the ones who were busy.

One would swing a leg, as if to kick the other, and the other would gracefully duck his head, arching his back, and roll out of the way. The moves were arching and dramatic, their sinewy bodies spinning and moving in ways Bieva never thought about. They moved in circles, never touching, but never apart. In unison, the twirling men reached up and let down their hair. Two streams of long black hair babbled out around them, joining in the swirling mass.

Bieva was transfixed. Their circle had grown thick with spectators and Bieva got a front and center spot. Her blood was up, it was like training! The same excitement she felt when training with her thick handled knife in hand, coursed through her as she watched the dance. The man who had taken her cloak made sure to look at her when he could take his eyes away from what he was doing. Bieva was sure he wanted her to watch him. His whole body screamed for her to do so, and she couldn’t ignore it. He was so beautiful her eyes wanted nothing else than to sop him up and lick the rest off of her fingers.

A tall, blonde Amn woman turned to Bieva, a flush in her cheeks, “I just love Darre,“ she wheezed in flustered excitement. Bieva tried to smile back, but couldn’t. She took two steps away from the woman, who was devouring the intense dancer with her eyes.

Bieva, without really meaning to, decided on the spot that she wouldn’t lose the most beautiful man she had ever seen to a foreign woman.She waited until his all consuming eyes touched her again, passing over the Amn woman to do so, she noticed. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded her raised chin to the staircase. A flood of embarrassment washed over her instantly. She felt like a barbarian woman, but did not entirely hate the feeling. 

The spinning men completed one last pass at each other before ending their display in a respectful bow, just like they started. Both men were covered in a thin sheen of sweat, it slicked the back of Bieva’s hands as he approached her, placing his hands on the ones she had on her hips. The Amn woman huffed and changed focus. Together, Bieva and her spinning beauty, moved backward through the thinning crowd of onlookers. Some of the other women frowned at her, left with the other option to pounce on, not that Bieva noticed. Her eyes stayed with the man in front of her, locking her hands with his as he pulled her willing body to his. 

“You watched me,” he said smiling, breathing just a little heavily.

“Was that for me?” Bieva asked, knowing the answer.

His wide smile penetrated deep within her. She did not know what to do, and went with the feeling that had escaped her gut and tingled all over her body. The women she knew weren’t beguiled by men, even if they were fiercely devoted to their husbands. A woman of Darre was supposed to control the natural urges that made men brutes, because without it they could hurt themselves and others. But, Bieva couldn’t help it. Never had a boy performed to get her attention before, and she was impressed in spite of herself. 

“I’m appreciative,” Bieva told him, taking a few shy steps toward the stairs, pulling her prize along with her. 

The pair shuffled up the stairs. Guiding her down a carpeted hall, many closed wooden doors lined the walls, he played with her body.. Running his hands up and round the exposed parts of her armor. Teasing her as they moved, a quick kiss on the neck, a soft stroke down her front. He opened a door at the end of the hall and wasted no time in removing Bieva’s gray armor. She let him this time. There was nothing for her to do, he knelt and began to work, skillfully releasing clasps and placing her armor down with respect. She remembered Nialni at the temple, “they love warriors where we’re going.”

“I’m Bie-,” she tried to get out, but he stopped her, popping up from the clasps and straps of her cuisse, and pressing a finger to her lips. 

“No, medre,” he said in his low growl. He let the finger drop and pressed his lovely lips to hers. 

“O-okay, wo,”Bbieva breathed against his mouth.

He pulled back like he was shocked anyone would address him with respect. His eyes darted all over her, trying to make sense of the woman in front of him.

“What?” Bieva asked at his sudden stop.

“You flatter me, medre, but there’s no need for that,” his smooth smile was back, but Bieva decided to chase the issue.

“Tell me your name, or I’ll have to keep calling you, wo,” she said, proud of herself for speaking without stuttering. 

He looked lost for a moment, considering her offer, and considering how to get around it. Slowly, he went back to removing Bieva’s armor without an answer. She stepped back, but finished taking off the piece he was working on. 

“I’m Bieva,” she said again. 

He sighed, standing up and clasping his hands in front of him. “Desoke,” he said finally, although a bit more reserved than earlier.

“I don’t like strangers, Desoke-wo,” Bieva said, still taking off her armor but watching him as she did. 

He flinched but nodded, “I can understand, Bieva-medre.”

“Just Bieva,” she said, down to her underclothes. They finally matched. 

He shook his head this time. “There are rules here, medre,” he said, sounding only slightly serious. 

“Explain them to me, then,” she stepped toward him again, feeling his warmth. 

He took her arms, sliding his soft hand up and down them, then slipping them to her waist. “I’m not some good little clanson,” he said. “You won’t find any of them here, so need to address me as one.” He dropped his linen pants, exposing his glory, and stepped out of them. She removed hers too. He kept one hand on Bieva’s as he moved to the bed, releasing it to lie down. His member rising high and hard as he prepared to be mounted. 

“You’re cut,” Bieva noticed.

She also noticed the ease in how he lay down. The few boys she had, had been timid and overexcited. She sent many prayers to any of The Three who might have been listening that none of them had been high enough to be a prospect for marriage. 

“Most here are trimmed,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. “A sign of a past life, long gone from here. Come, medre,” he reached a hand out to her again.

She took it, stepping onto the plush feather mattress, and climbed atop him. Suddenly she gasped, one of his lean arms wrapped around her waist and guided her down. His hips rose up to meet her waist, and she cried out to several gods. It was strong, but not overwhelming, certainly a move no clanson would have ever tried. At least the ones she had sampled. 

“No good clanson, okay I agree,” Bieva said in-between gasps of pleasure. 

He laughed. A deep, rolling sound from the gut. “Starting to understand me are you, medre?”

“Bieva,” she said with a roll of her own hips.

“Bieva,” he moaned back, his head lolling and the long beautiful river of black hair fell from his face. 

They found their rhythm to a dance Bieva had never done. His hands found her body and weren’t afraid to explore. Desoke proved to be everything he said, not a good clanson, but she found so much more. No man she knew, or had heard of, was able to please a woman the way he pleased her. The boys she had been with were always within her control, quiet and submissive. Not Desoke. He was a stud beast, worthy of being chained in a back room for pleasure, but he was gentle, beautiful, and creative, earning his freedom in the same stroke of his hips. Never had she been flipped over and taken, like Desoke was the one riding her!

Pleasure washed over her, sunk down into her, and washed away all cares she could ever have. Desoke curled up behind her, spent and breathing warmly onto her ear. With her hunger sated, Bieva began to lose her confidence. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, but a greatly unsuitable man to bed her. Some of that heat left her, and Desoke peeled away from her. Worry that he felt her change, or somehow heard her thoughts, welled up in her. 

He crossed the room to a little serving cart in the corner, and fixed himself a drink. Bieva moved to get herself back in order. She stepped back into her underclothes and began to strap up her armor. Desoke came over, pressing his cup into Bieva’s hands and taking over her armor for her.

“You’re fumbling,” he chuckled. “Still no need to nervous, medre.”

Bieva cleared her throat.

“Bieva,” he said, but this time with a smile spreading across his face. 

She tipped the cup to her lips, tasting serry flower juice with some strong spirit folded in. It made her wrinkle her mouth and brow, but the sweet sting of it was calming. “That’s good,” she admitted. “Strong as all the hells combined, but good.”

“I made it weak as I could, but-,”

The door creaked open wide enough to allow a tiny head to peak in, Desoke froze. 

“Prulo sent me,” a small voice said. She whispered loudly, not wanting to come into the room, but wanting them to hear. 

Bieva turned her head and wandered to the other side of the candlelit room. She didn’t want the little girl to see her, feeling shame at the sight she knew the girl saw.

“He said this one’s companions are searching for her, causing a ruckus they are,” the little girl said.

Bieva’s head whipped around in shock.

Desoke nodded, still kneeling where he’d been caught retying Bieva’s armor, but his movements were small and tight. “Thank you, Kitke,” he said in an near whisper. 

The head withdrew and the door closed. 

“There are children here?” Bieva nearly roared. “Girl children no less! She couldn’t have been anymore than five!”

“Would you prefer boys?” Desoke said, finally standing, but fixing her with a hard stare.

“No!” Bieva spat. “I’d prefer no children! Who’s is she? She doesn’t…”

Desoke narrowed his eyes at her. “More than one man here has children.”

Bieva’s flaring temper drew up short, “what?”

“Ueino, medre is…kind to men like me. Men with no options. Men who have been left with children to raise while our women chase lives of fancy, or leave Darre altogether.”

Bieva toyed with the cup in her hand, remembering that she was supposed to drink from it, she did, not knowing what else to do. She had no idea that men with children ended up in sharing houses. What woman would allow her daughter to live such a life? It bothered her. A Darren girl should never be thrown away. She was a future asset to the nation, something to be cultivated and trained into a worthy woman. Not to be a servant in a sharing house. 

“Do you have any?” Bieva said, to fill the silence. There wasn’t much left of her armor to reapply thanks to Desoke’s adept fingers. She finished the rest herself, seeing as Desoke had lowered himself onto the edge of the low bed and didn’t touch her again. 

“You’ve already met my Kitke,” he sniffed. 

“She was yours?!” 

Instantly regretting her outburst, she tried to smooth it over, but Desoke was offended and she knew it. He politely thanked her and opened the door, leading the way back to the parlor to flirting men and fawning women. Bieva tried to grab his hand and thank him, and apologize all at once, but he smoothly slipped out of her grasp and disappeared back up the steps. Bieva’s heart sank in her chest, and she cursed it because she didn’t know why it felt that way. 

Angusu and Nialni were standing together but not talking. The other women in the room were eyeing them suspiciously. Nialni had a half moon grin on her face, Angusu seemed to be trying very hard not to scowl. Her friends gave her small greetings, Nialni more excited than Angusu. Bieva’s presence perked Nialni up, but Angusu remained as sulky as when she went in. 

The old man, Prulo, opened the door for us, motioning us out. 

“What did you two do?” Bieva asked, Desoke’s rippling hair and beautiful lips still in the front of her mind. 

“Old Gusy, and I made a bet,” Nialni snickered. “Who could bed the most. I won.”

The three of them rejoined the world outside. Following the way that Prulo brought them. Angusu explained that Nialni had gotten over excited and started to harass the men, challenging a few women to fights. Thankfully Angusu was there to stop it all. She’d been with Desoke longer than she thought. Morning was only a few hours away, but she could have sworn it was only an hour. 

“Gusy is just a sore loser,” Nialni said, her arms lackadaisically thrown over her head, strutting her way back into the empty inner city. 

Bieva nodded because she felt like she had to, Nialni had paid for that. But her mind was still with Desoke, and little Kitke, peaking at the parlor from around a corner. Bieva wondered if her father knew she did at. She knew it was all for not to think about the pair of them, knowing she would never see Desoke again, because her foray into sharing houses was over. But, she rehearsed her apology just in case she ever did.


	2. Liberated Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desoke is visited by a forgotten past. A godling enters on the tail of Desoke making an important decision for himself.

Chapter 2

Kitke knew her father was upset, but she didn’t know why. He was always…something! Perched atop his hassock, he sat straight up, looking into his big mirror he was so proud of. Naked to the waist, his linen white pants draped over his backless stuffed chair. Ueino once said that her father must have been highborn because, “that boy is sensitive.” Kitke knew what father and boy meant. She didn’t know words like highborn and sensitive, but Ueino-medre was smart. That’s why she gave out the orders and everyone listened, even her father. He did everything Ueino told him to do with that smile on his face, the one he practiced in his mirror. She had learned to smile just like that, he looked so pretty when he smiled, she thought. But, Ueino scolded her for acting to manly. The way she sat, wore her hair, it was all too much like her father.

“Those things are for boys to do,” Ueino would say, “keeps the barbarian out of them.”

Crossing the room, Kitke took the tail ends of her father’s long, shiny black hair in her helping hands. She combed in the oils he had put into it with her fingers, them glistening and slick for the work. “I’m helping keep the barbarian out of you, father.”

Kitke started to giggle as soon as her father had, though she barely held it that long. He whipped around and caught her in his arms. Desoke tickled his daughter. “If you’re doing that, then who’s keeping the barbarian out of you, hmmm? Hmmm, little Kitke?”

She squealed and squirmed, a rolling, laughing, bundle. “Girls can’t be barbarians, father, only boys are!”

Desoke’s fingers lost their avidity, and he slowly uprighted his happy child, sitting her in front of him on the vanity. Gods love her, he thought. She looks more and more like me everyday. Her hair was long, dark as his with the same texture. Their browns matched, deep and rich, yet clear as crystal. Her eyes were amber with honey flecks thrown in, a shade lighter than his. He could see she would have his cheekbones when she was older, but she was still at little girl. Her features her high and small. Cute. She was a cute little girl, but Desoke knew women like Ueino did not see her that way. 

 

You spend too much time around women, he wanted to say to her, but he couldn’t. He was determined to keep her a child for as long as possible, despite his odds. “Do I look like a barbarian?” He said, teasing his daughter.

“No, you’re too pretty, father! But Ueino-medre says every boy can be one.”

Desoke thought while his hands righted small things on Kitke. His daughter was far from being a woman, but she was well on her way to thinking like one. He thought about her proving year, and what he would do about it. The ninth year of a Darren girl’s life, she would have to prove herself against an older woman of the clan, a year she declared herself a future warrior for Darre. It was four years away, but he still wrung his hands from the stress of it. There were no women in his clan for Kitke to prove herself against, at least none he could find. 

No no. I said I can do this, and I can, Desoke reassured himself, only half believing his own fervor. He racked his brain for what to do. The urge to keep her at his side at all times had been rising for several days, worried about what she was seeing and learning at such a young age. Ueino had made it perfectly clear to him, after passionately reminding of his place, that she was not a child watcher, and that Kitke like all the other children worked for tenancy. That very day Desoke almost left the sharing house, nearly choosing the gutters of Arrebia over Ueino’s new oppression. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks as he paced his room, telling himself to go but too afraid for Kitke to make any move.

The tears had shocked him, he assumed they were all gone.When he was younger, he bargained away his tears to a godling. She lapped her slimy tongue all over his face as he cried until he couldn’t anymore. He still heard the whispered words of anguish she fed to him, keeping the tears steady. The recounting of his past, every word heavier than stone, was hurled at him through soft spoken words. 

The love he always wanted, but never felt.

The poverty

His first wife.

The last thought slapped him like a wet tongue to the face. He violently shivered, resisting the urge to swat away the tongue, slick with the ichor of his misery, and the rancid breath panting on his cheek.

He focused on Kitke’s little face, who was draping herself with his hair. Her small angelic features grounded him. The panic ebbed back into the pit it bubbled out of, and he thickly swallowed the rest. “Have you done your chores for the morning already?” It was a trick Desoke had taught her; if you have chores for the morning that can be done the night before, do them, that way you can sleep in a little longer.

Kitke looked up at him from under a curtain of black, shiny hair. “Yes, father,” she looked a touch guilty, “but, Ueino-medre sa-” Desoke cut her off, unable to bear one more of Ueino’s wiitcism’s.

“Good, then you will come with me into town tomorrow,” Desoke interjected.

“Why?” Kitke asked, not sounding too particularly excited or opposed. Just curious.

“Because it’ll be cold soon, and I need fur pelts to make us clothes to keep warm.” That was only half true. Kitke spent the most time with Ueino in the mornings and he sought to change that.

Desoke finished getting ready for bed, tying his freshly oiled hair into a silk scarf, washing his face, and cleaning his teeth, all with Kitke at his side. Together they cuddled up on a plush makeshift of pillows and wide cushions in the corner of Desoke’s private quarters. The canopy bed, perfectly positioned in the center of the room, was for business and he never allowed his daughter to sleep on it.

Drifting from one world to the next, the tiny pile of grey linen and blankets that was his daughter was snoring in his arms, Desoke felt better. Ueino wouldn’t continue to let him and Kitke miss morning chores and preparations, but he could curb her anger. He was good at that. Before his eyes closed and his breathing evened out into a small snore, he resigned himself to be better than he ever was, for Kitke’s sake. Life could walk all over him, but never on Kitke.

Undulating darkness passed imperceptibly into rippling light. Then back again. There was no sensation, only the eternity between light and its complete absence. Swirling in an impossible mixture of everything and nothing, Desoke prayed to touch the ground and the lush grass of a familiar meadow sprang to life beneath his feet. He sprawled, panting and thankful, onto his back, running his fingers through the dirt and pulling up shimmering flowers. The light had faded into twinkling stars and a gigantic, clear moon. Its large rocky craters shadowed by the darkness that spread between it and the stars. It was far to beautiful to be afraid of. 

“So long without a dream, Little Desoke,” a ubiquitous voice filled the space.

Desoke flinched. No one called him that, at least no one in Arrebia. That name came from the small fishing town he left years ago. Kitke was a swaddled bundle in one arm, the rest of his possessions packed together in a small leather sack in the other arm, were his last memories of that place. 

“Many say they don’t dream, but that is not the case. I bless them not to remember the horrible dreamscapes they create. But you, Little Desoke, you eat, you sleep, you survive. Once you had the most beautiful of dreams.” Images of robes, furs, and jewels blossomed into pellucid visions.

“I’m not that person anymore,” Desoke said into the twinkling black sky.

“No,” the soothing smooth voice agreed, “yet you are back here.”

“This is a dream?” Desoke said, taking a few steps into the enticingly eerie meadow. Impossible flowers, some glowing, sprouting from the ground only to blossom and die in a shower of sparks instantaneously, grew from everywhere interspersed with deep green grass wavering in a wind only it felt.. The surrounding trees were darrewood dark, glistening under the huge moon. 

Two pillars of moonlight appeared in the center of the meadow. In the beam furthest away from him, Desoke saw the light bend and take shape. A blank white oval appeared, long enough to be a face. Around it a head took shape, and a body etched itself out of the light. Golden filigree wrapped around the figure, opting for that instead of features and flesh. A deep red robe swirled around, a gold under robe peeking out stylishly from the top and bottom. When Desoke used to dream, he dreamed of robes like those. From the top of the beings head sprouted a crop of red hair that froze in the middle of its growing and stood straight up. 

Feeling like he should, Desoke stepped into the second light pillar. He had only realized he was naked at that moment. But as soon as he entered the moonlight a midnight blue robe plumed around him. The high collar of a purple under robe peeked from the top and swished into view at the bottom. He gasped. 

“This is a dream, and you are starting to get the hang of it again.” The figure said, glowing in his beam of light. 

“Are you a godling?” Desoke asked, admiring the blue robe on his brown skin and imagining how the purple brought out the mahogany of his eyes. 

The figure bowed deeply, “I am called Dreammaker, but many know me as Nsana.”

“And you know me, Lord Nsana?”

“I am drawn to dreams, and yours used to call to me every night you slept. The most grand of dreams they were. You were but a boy by mortal standards, but you dreamed with vigor. Your dreams were a dazzling bloom among an already shining sea. Why did you stop dreaming, Little Desoke?”

“I stopped being Little Desoke,” he said in a clear voice. That past was long behind him. “I married. Marriage does things to everyone.”

“From what I have learned of humans, marriage can be exalting. Yours bogged you down so much, you forgot to dream?” He cocked his faceless head to the side as if studying Desoke. “But you’ve come back, what has freed you?”

“I…I don’t know,” Desoke faltered. Thinking about godlings, magic, and dreams made his head spin. Godlings were inevitable, even in the shadows of Arrebia. But Desoke had learned that if they liked you the worst damage they could deal was a broken heart. He had felt it before, and lived, he figured he could do it again. Desoke dropped his hands into his lap, the elegant sleeves of his robes engulfing his hands. He was the perfect Darren man, pretty and demure, hands perfumed and covered, and he knew it. “I don’t know what brought me back here, but since I am, what is it you would have me do?”

 

“Dream, Little Desoke,” Nsana said, his voice like wind, permeating all spaces, yet gentle and smooth. 

 

“Aren’t I dreaming?”

 

“Not…correctly,” Nsana raised and dropped his robed shoulders, his blank face somehow expressive, or Desoke could see the features that were supposed to be there. “Have you forgotten how to dream, Little Desoke?”

 

“Why must I be Little Desoke? I am not young any more.” He insisted, though he felt a bit childish insisting as he did.

 

“I am older than the planet you live on, even older than the dream realm, in some ways. Your kind will always be young to me,” Nsana said and the flowers of the meadow softly bent under the wind of his voice.

 

“I’m unsure what you want of me, Lord Nsana,” Desoke sighed. 

 

“Nsana will do,” the godling chuckled.

 

Desoke nodded.

“I want you to feel free enough to enjoy this realm. I cannot touch the real world but through dreams. I learn about your kind through your dreams. Allow me to know you once again,Desoke, please?”

 

“How?” Desoke was confused, but becoming more indulgent as he became intrigued. 

 

“By doing what makes you feel free. You can create whatever your heart desires here.” Nsana gestured around, “you’ve already created so much, just continue.”

 

Godlings sometimes goaded humans to do things that would soothe their nature. Early on, Desoke learned that a godling’s nature is extremely important to them. It is their very soul glorified. It did not take long to grasp why The Dreammaker was asking him to dream. But, Desoke grew curious as he thought. 

“Dreams are your nature, aren’t they Nsana?” Desoke thundered on without waiting for an answer. “Have I hurt you by not dreaming?”

 

Nsana stood perfectly still. “Not particularly, no. There are millions dreaming at all times on this planet. Yet, I have thought about the dreams you shared and have missed them.”

That was nearly an admission of love from a godling, and it made Desoke a touch nervous. Godling’s and their feelings were many sources of human suffering.

Desoke felt he could only be free if he were alone, and there would be no way he could ever pretend that he wasn’t being watched. Beside that, only two things made Desoke feel free were his daughter, Kitke, and the battle-dance he loved called anatun. The anatun was a type of language for men once. They communicated their strength and beauty to women through it. Prulo had taught it to him when he found Desoke begging for work in a tavern, a napping Kitke strapped to his back. 

“That face and the anatun will be your saving grace,” Prulo told him, as he walked away from the tavern sobbing. After a few coins and soothing words, Desoke learned that Prulo was more than a kindly old man with sympathy for his situation. He was a manager at the sharing houses. A place for men with no options. 

 

There Prulo taught him the anatun, right under Ueino’s nose. The battle dance did it’s job attracting women, but it was more than that. It gave the men options. They didn’t have to be chose, they could use the dance to sway any woman they wanted, or get another woman instead of the one that wanted them. It was also a bond between brothers, and dance of a long dead rebellion that would never spark again.

“If you bless my Kitke with sweet dreams for all of her life, I will show you what makes me free,” Desoke said, knowing godlings liked to bargain. Except for the ones that did not like humans. He had run across a few of the lot, and he had started to grow wary of them until Nsana.

 

Nsana turned his head to the side in a show of thinking. “Ah yes, you are a father now. So much life lived.” Desoke swore he saw the Dreammaker smile. Nsana made a show of mulling it over before declaring, “I’ll do it.”

Desoke nodded, and took the first position of the anatun with an exhale of breath. He held his long sleeve level with his mouth, the lovely blue fabric drooping down and catching the breeze, and took a low bow. The battle-dance was meant for two, but Desoke knew the form well. He cleared his mind and flowed through the moves, making the arching kicks and looping punches with perfect execution. Flashes of red and gold blurred across his vision. The stock-still crop of red hair and robes swirled in and out of Desoke’s dancing. 

“You learn fast,” Desoke panted, but unable to keep the smile from his lips. 

“You dance magically,” Nsana responded, the breeze of his voice caressing Desoke’s moon shadowed face. 

 

“It is called,” Desoke spun away his blue robes billowing against the Dreammakers red ones, “the anatun. A fight-dance for men like me.”

 

“So much life lived,” Nsana said again. This time Desoke smiled at his odd praise.

The looming moon never moved, so Desoke could not tell how much time passed. He never grew tired, just coated in the light sheen of sweat he knew would come. Nsana was a graceful partner, but Desoke forgot about him at times. He spun, punched, and smiled at the moon. Losing himself in the battle directed at no one at all. Spinning onto his back, he laughed up at the sky. His river of black hair shimmering amongst the dream flowers. Finally he closed his eyes, feeling a peace he hadn’t in a long time. 

 

“Thank you, Desoke,” the wind that was the Dreammaker blew over the meadow.

 

Desoke snapped awake. The first light of morning weakly streaming into the window through colored curtains. He couldn’t remember dreaming, but was sure he did, he felt fully rested something that only happened after he dreamt, which had been years. A small brown foot was resting on his face, peeking from under a flash of gold ringed by a deep red color. Desoke jolted up on his mountain of cushions and pillows, pushing the covers back. He was wearing robes of deep blue and purple, a silvery meadowscape embroidered by the hem and making it’s way all the way around. The sleeping Kitke was also dressed in robes Desoke did not put her in, a thick red over robe with the same meadow sewn at the bottom with a beautiful peak of gold at the top and bottom. 

“Well by all the infinite heavens!” Desoke cried. Only a godling could have done this, Desoke thought and quickly worried if the hungry godling was coming back for the rest of the tears she left him. Either way he felt he would soon get a visit from an enulai, the godling checkers, though he had no idea which godling left him the robes. 

 

He softly shook Kitke awake, wondering if he should keep the robes. They were totally improper for a girl, and Ueino would have much to say. That thought spurred an eye-roll from Desoke. Kitke was a vision in her robes, his proud heart swelled. He decided to keep the robes.

Quietly, he and Kitke crept down the stairs, hoping to avoid most of the house. They almost made it out of the door, until Ueino spryly rounded a corner.

“Desoke, good your up,” ueino’s voice boomed from behind him. “By Itempas’s bright ass, what are you wearing Kitke?”

 

“Chores are done, Ueino-medre,” Desoke said ignoring her comment, he knew it was coming. He spoke with every once of respect he could muster. “We’ll be back in time for the evening festivities.”

 

“You can’t take her out like that, decent people will think she’s a boy.” ueino said as if that would deter him. 

 

“Ueino-medre, what’s wrong with boys? You make your living off of us.” 

 

Before Ueino’s wrinkled jaw could slack open, Desoke flounced off of the porch with Kitke in tow, though she was a bit unsophisticated in the robes. She would learn, if Desoke had anything to say about it. Ueino called him from across the street, her voice growing weaker as he went, but he ignored her. It felt good to be out in the city in new clothes. The people of Lower Arrebia all looked at him as he strolled with pride, a far cry from the days when he first arrived from the small fishing city with nothing but his fears and a sleeping baby. His grip on his daughter’s hand tightened and they strolled happily together into the inner city.


	3. Trouble in Arrebaia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desoke and Bieva reunite but not in the way either of trhem expected.

The winds blowing through Arrebaia, the expansive capital of Darre, began to change with the incoming season. The whole High North would eventually begin preparing for the snowfall and freezing nights. The trappers, hunters, and merchants would soon flood the Raringa for permits and business, as the cold seasons were especially busy for them. The animal pelts they collected would only become more scarce as the cold rolled in, and demand would spill over their ability to produce. The Warriors Council would be a great help to them. Old warriors with fat pockets and the power to sway the Darren figure head, the ennu, into just about any deal they wanted. 

It was after official court hours, yet the state building, the Raringa, was just as busy as ever. Important women going and coming, guards for important women, children in their best clothes. Bieva, the next ennu, stood in the middle of it. Her two personal bodyguards posted on either side of her. They also happened to be her closest friends, who both seemed to like getting her in odd situations that would have her mother skin her alive if she ever found out. But, she never did. Bieva supposed she was grateful. Graduating from Warriors Training seemed to mellow the pair of them out. In the weeks since its passing they grew more dutiful, dedicated to their assigned cause. It made Bieva uncomfortable; their cause was to protect her. 

She had went through all the trials to become her mother’s heir in right. Fought all the bouts, shadowed her closely, passed all the tests, yet she never felt any different from the Warriors around her. All the girls were tested at some point or another. It was tradition that the prospering merchant ways hadn’t squashed just yet. Through it all she never felt like the ennu’s daughter, just Bieva. A warrior in a standing army of others just like her. Brown skin warmed by the sun during hot days of training. Muscles taut from many good days of work. The Darre women were soldiers and they worked hard to uphold tradition. Bieva felt proud to be one of them. Now her time was coming to take her place over them. 

The Warriors Council never slacked on letting her know that the ennu was the figurehead and they were the workings. Though, Bieva knew there were ways for the ennu to impose her will, she kept quiet to keep her life running smoothly. 

Her mother was late for her daily tour of upper Arrebia. A “look what I’ve afforded you, and you throw it away”, scolding. She is a hard woman, guarded after many years of fighting with the council and staying at the center of the government. Bieva knew her mother just wanted her to succeed, but she was afraid at what costs. The only thing stopping her from being the perfect daughter was her marital status. She was behind the rest. 

Nialni, her friend and guard absentmindedly switching her weight from one foot to the other, had taken a husband weeks ago. Rumor was that she still had him chained to the bed post with a waiting, hard prick and a smile on his face. Knowing Nialni it was true, Bieva thought. The soldier to Bieva’s left, the stoic and solid Angusu, had chosen one of her options recently. Nialni chided Angusu for her doting on her husband to be, laughing at and keeping away the jeweled circumcision knife she got for him. Bieva could tell it bothered Angusu, but she admired her for wanting something more than the other women had. She was choosing not to share her bed with a breeding beast that would raise her children, but a lover, a partner to share her life with. It’s what Bieva wanted more than anything. 

“Bieva, come,” her mother’s authoritative voice rang out. 

She and her guards merged with her mother’s, Nialni and Angusu falling into the back of the formation as the ennu’s guards took first position. 

“How goes it today?” The ennu asked, her voice crisp and sharp. 

“I am no closer to a decision than I was yesterday,” Bieva answered, letting some of her annoyance show in her voice. Knowing her mother was pressing the familiar issue of marriage. 

They started out of the Raringa, parting their way through the town’s market square. Having a very respected mother did not make a casual stroll easy for Bieva. Her mother constantly stopped to greet nodding citizens. To pat girls on the head, pinch baby boys on the cheeks, and make empty appointment promises to ambitious women. Bieva could not focus for wondering if this is what she had to look forward to. Would she have to marry a man she did not love for the privilege of being ennu. It had been done before, too many times. She wondered if her mother loved her father. A sweet man who was far too lenient on her. He always told her to be sweet on any man she chose; to leave war on the field and be a lover at home. It’s not how she saw her mother, but maybe her father did. Maybe it was possible to love a matched partner. 

A girl in luxurious robes darted across Bieva’s vision, breaking her daydream. She looked familiar, draped in robes made for a boy with a trail of meticulously cared for hair. Her doting parent, in robes just as flamboyant and shinier hair, quickly went after her. The man was tall, but not overly so. A boyish face tipping the verge manhood’s sharp angles. His smiling mouth jovially twisted upward, showing a lovely set of white teeth, a stark contrast against his beautifully even brown skin, deep as a dark wooded forest at twilight. His robes were a deep rich blue, stylishly layered over a purple under robe. 

Bieva undressed him with her eyes without meaning to, a soft northern wind blew pressing his robes against his body made it too easy. She could tell he was taut with ribbons of muscle lacquered over with umber skin. Shoulders wide, and hips narrow, he was perfect for riding. 

“Kitke, come,” his rumble of a voice said after trying to catch his fleeting, giggling child. 

There in the middle of the square an epiphany hit. Bieva froze. She had ridden him already. Quickly she shook her head and rid herself of the thought. The flood of emotions she felt afterward were harder to shake. He was upset at her the last time she saw him, upset because of the robed red and gold bundle he playfully chased. She remembered a half spawned idea to apologize to him if she ever saw him again. The idea came and went. She could never do that. Not in the crowd surrounding her mother, not with her right there! Looking at her and judging. Her mother could never know she visited a sharing house, filled with nearly nude men and drinking women. Or, that she rode the beautiful man she was trying to tear her eyes from. She would kill her on the spot. 

“Why do they always look better the second time?” Nialni covertly whispered to Bieva

Bieva jumped, lost in thought while staring at the man who has possibly been shared with hundreds of women, wondering why she did not care about that. “Shut up, Nialni.” 

“I’m just saying,” the guard sighed, her eyes searching the man as well. “Good father too,” she said, but this time more to herself than Bieva, “looking at him you’d never guess he lived in a sharing house.”

“Would you please shut up before someone he-” Bieva started but couldn’t finish. She was still with the man in blue robes, Desoke, if she remembered correctly. She did. She had thought about him many times since their brief encounter weeks ago. The warm way he embraced her, how he hung on her words, the eye catching way his mouth smiled. He was hard to work out of her system, and now that he was in front of her she couldn’t stop watching him. 

Desoke’s head jerked, his daughter, Kitke, stilling and turning with him in unison. Further down the market stalls a commotion was breaking out, sounds blurred by the fuss the milling crowd was making over the ennu. Desoke raised on the tips of his toes for a second, gasped, and started into the crowd in the opposite direction. Bieva followed him without thinking to, curious about what made him curious. Nialni and Angusu moved with her, flanking her on either side. Bieva thought she heard someone call her name but ignored it, confident that it was just a woman who was being too familiar. 

The crowd parted for Bieva, but much less dramatically than they had for her mother. She was only momentarily insulted. Then she saw a swish of Desoke’s magnificent robe and followed it closely. He bobbed in and out of people, occasionally checking whatever situation had him so worried by bouncing up on his toes to see over heads of the mob in front of him. 

Nialni cleared them through the crowd. She was rough and unforgiving in her duties, Bieva found herself grateful for her once again. They had caught up to Desoke, who stood with his hand over his mouth at the perimeter of a circle formed around a stall with meats sizzling over flames. It smelled delicious but the main attraction was the imposing woman with a staff in front of it. She stood over a man, round and dressed in what once were white dressing pants and a simple tunic. He clutched a sliver of meat to his chest, while one knee rested on the ground, his head hung low, and he panted rapidly. 

The woman yelled something, and a few women from the crowd echoed back her sentiment. The man raised his head, searching the woman’s face for mercy. THWACK. She brought her staff up and down swiftly, hitting the man across his other knee. It hit the dirt too and the cheering grew louder. 

“Forgive me, medre,” Bieva heard the man pant. He was old enough to be her father, with gray hair springing amongst the black. “You don’t know what it’s like to hunger as I do,” he wheezed. The woman’s face twisted in disgust, and she raised her staff for another blow. 

The crowd anticipated the blow. Only far off voices still littered the air, the crowd was holding its breath in excitement. The bloodlust held in the air, but shifted suddenly to shock. A whirl of blue and purple streaks darted forward. The anticipated thwack never came, replaced by a muted thud as Desoke rushed in over the man and diverted to staff. He took a position as if he were fighting, but his stance was too loose, full of grace not power. When the staff came down he moved from that position, raising his right arm straight up, catching the staff perpendicularly on its way down, and continued arching his arm up to deflect the blow. 

“Please, medre,” Desoke said, voice calm and steady. His growl of charm gone, replaced by something forceful and magnetic. “He is only hungry, and has no one to care for him. I will gladly pay you for what he stole, but please do not do this.”

The staff came up quickly with no hesitation. The crowd cheered the woman on as she beat her staff down on Desoke. Kitke screamed, running toward her father, who motioned for her to stay away, but she did not listen. Bieva moved to stop Kitke, Nialni and Angusu launching into action behind her. The wood of the staff made a solid tap as it clashed with the wood of Angusu’s spear. Nialni stood poised to strike on her other side, ready to stop the woman if she decided not to yield to official guards. Bieva jostled the screaming, crying child, eventually placing her next to Desoke curled upon himself, yet still protecting the poor man who stole the woman’s cured meat. 

“Bieva, explain,” the crisp voice of the ennu snapped, as she and her party burst out of the crowd, storming up to her daughter. 

“This man, he…” Bieva instantly spoke, trying to explain herself but quickly realized she could not. None of it was her doing, but of course her mother thought he caused every trouble in Darr. She watched Kitke tangle herself in her father, his arms grabbing her and shielding her as if she was under attack as well. 

Desoke lifted his head, the stream of black hair curtaining his face. He pressed Kitke to his chest, surveying the women around him with his jaw flexed and eyes narrowed. Tears pooled around his bottom eyelids, but they never spilled over. An invisible thread of anger wound its way over him. Bieva expected him to erupt, and the guards would have no choice but to react and put him down. Desoke’s captivating brown eyes fell on Bieva, recognition reanimating his cold face. Bieva looked away. 

“You,” the ennu snapped at the market stall owner. She had put her staff away and stepped back from the men at her feet. “Explain and quickly.”

“This one,” the woman said with disgust coloring her voice, “tried to steal from me.” She kicked her foot at Desoke, “and this seditious rouser tried to help him get away with it!” 

“He offered to pay,” Bieva spoke up, unable to keep quiet. “He offered and she wouldn’t let him, so-”

“Arrest the thief, and bring the rouser,” the ennu ordered before turning her back and heading toward the Raringa. 

“Wait, mother!” Bieva called after her. She was met with a harsh glare thrown over her mother’s shoulder. Unable to chase her point any further, she did what she could. She made sure Nialni and Angusu were the escorts for Desoke and Kitke, not her mother’s people. 

She remembered the apology she thought about giving Desoke since the last time they met, and felt a pit in her chest sink. I’ll ever make this up to him, churned around her head as they made their way back to the Raringa under the watchful eyes of Darr’s people. 

The orders came quickly. The large man was seen, and caught with stolen meat in hand. He was to be taken down to the cells and held. Desoke would be held with him. Kitke, however, was to be brought to the ennu. 

Bieva led the girl in to see the ennu, mind still drifting to her father, who would only whisper sweet fatherly reassurances to the sniffling child. 

He coddled her like a boy, Bieva noticed. Making her wonder about her mother. She needed one to make her strong. The ennu didn’t like weeping girls. Bieva gave her words of encouragement, and advice on being quiet in front of the ennu. The girl nodded like she understood, though she was quiet as her father. There was a lot of him in her. The silent stare deep into the eyes, the eye roll away, the lavish attention to detail. 

That’s what Bieva thought she knew about him, what she fantasized about. She didn’t just think about the apology she owed Desoke, but about the night she barely was able to speak about. He was enigmatic. Charm dipped in gods blood, delicious on the lips and sweet in the body. If she ever had the chance to savor his kiss again, she’d be sure to take her time. 

“Girl,” the ennu cut across her thoughts, cross legged and straight backed on a sitting pillow. Kitke had settled across from her, kneeling on a pillow, her robes spread out around her in a fiery plumage. “What’s your name?”

“Kitke,” she sniffled. 

“Upon first meeting a woman it is customary to give your full clan name, for instance, I am Feva dau she Dabva tai wer Klemme, but you can call me Feva-ennu. Now, Kitke, what is your name?” 

“Kitke dau she Desoke,” she said, her eyes downcast. 

“That’s not a clan name, girl,” the ennu said, her patience growing thin. Bieva could hear it in her voice. 

“It’s the only one I know,” she said. 

“Your mother never taught you your clan name?” 

The child looked up, her eyes found Bieva, kneeling behind the ennu. She wished she could help the girl, walk her through this. Her mother was ennu, she knew she’d face trials. But Kitke, she was being raised in a sharing house by a man. A girl like that would never see a woman like her mother coming. 

“Problem, Kitke dau she Desoke?” The ennu said, turning to look at Bieva. 

Bieva guiltily broke her gaze with Kitke. “Perhaps she is nervous, mother,” she said studying her hands in her lap. 

“That’s not a good trait in girls,” Feva-ennu said, turning back to Kitke. “But, we can weed that out.” 

Bieva looked at her mother in confusion. 

“Bieva, it is fortunate that we have found this girl. She will be the first of many.” Feva-ennu said, a calculating tone to her voice. 

“First of many what, mother?”

“The first of the legacy I will leave to you,” she said, standing and moving around Kitke, looking at her from all angles. “The richer Darr becomes, the more the old ways slip from us. I have always wanted to restore the ways of the warrior to our people, but I’ve had far too much resistance from the council to go through with my plans.” 

“I admire your motivation, mother, but…” Bieva prompted. 

“Ah, you want to know. Good.” Feva-ennu left Kitke and moved toward her daughter. Bieva noticed the free way she moved, much like in their home. The room was empty when the ennu was usually surrounded by a hoard of people. She had purposely isolated them, so she could pass her plans on to her daughter. “I have plans to increase our standing military. Women who only fight for Darr, trained from childhood to do so.” 

“That is every woman in Darr already, mother. We would give our lives to protect it.” Bieva said, not following her mother’s logic. 

“Yes. That is very true, but I am talking about elite warriors. The best of the best. Women who know nothing else but war. No husbands, no children. They will only know battle. They take the lead, under the ennu’s command, during wartime, saving more lives of our women.”

It didn’t sound like a bad idea to Bieva. The women of Darr were meant to be warriors. Elite warriors could only increase their chances on the battle field, but every warrior deserved a family. Someone to love them when the burden of battle hung heavy on them. Taking that away from a soldier seemed wrong. 

Bieva raised her concern, discussing the ennu’s new plan with her. She became so wrapped up in her conversation that Kitke sniffling from her pillow startled her back to reality. Cold, wet realization dripped over her as she realized that Kitke would be used for the plan. 

“Why this girl?” Bieva asked. 

“She’s motherless. There is no woman to take claim of her. She has no clan name. No one will miss her when we take her and train her up.” Feva-ennu said, a smile of future glory spreading across her face. 

“But her father-”

Feva-ennu made a noise of dismissal. “Men have no right to claim anything That is the wonder of this plan, daughter. We take clan-less girls and give them a clan. One they can feel proud fighting for! All of Darr will be their clan!” 

Bieva was having a hard time understanding. “Are you saying we take this girl from her father?”

The ennu’s eyes rolled, annoyed and impatient. “Her father, her father,” she cried! “That’s your problem, you are constantly fixated on men and their feelings,” she pointed her accusing finger directly between Bieva’s eyes! She broke her point and paced, “we are focused on her mother. Women pass the clan name, not men! She has no clan! I can give her one, one that will fight for us when we need them, while also letting the nation grow financially. I can satisfy the council with that possibility.” 

“I can’t imagine that unattached men will be willing to give up their daughters to us,” Bieva said, choosing her words carefully. 

Feva sighed. “You may be correct. It’s a thought I’ve had many times.” She put a hand to her chin, circled the puzzled Kitke once again, and looked to her daughter. “We may be fortunate, if we act quickly,” she said in a low, thoughtful voice. “You care, Bieva. It does not do an ennu well to be kind, but you do, however. We keep the father here, on charges of sedition, and I release the girl to you. You will keep her, train her. The women will see, the word will spread. Our ranks will grow.”

“With child soldiers? Mother, we are better than that,” Bieva spat, no longer able to hold her tongue! 

“We begin with the girls. A class at a time, headed by you and your selected few officers, to start out. If you play it right, and with my guidance, we can move into listless women around Arrebia. Imagine it daughter, every woman working for Darr in some way, to deepen our pockets or to fight to keep our freedom,” she said, impassioned. 

Bieva did like the thought of everyone working for their home. She tossed it around her head to see it for all angles. If they recruited the drinking women that cluttered the alleys of the lower city, they could possibly eliminate the homeless population. “I can see your way of thinking, Mother,” Bieva conceded. 

The ennu sighed, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. 

“Where do we start?” Bieva asked. 

“The sharing houses,” the ennu instantly retorted. “But only after we get started here with our first.”

Bieva’s stomach had twisted from the first mention of holding Desoke, and flipped when her mother mentioned the sharing houses. Without thinking, she bargained for Desoke, asking her mother to let her hire him as a servant. 

The ennu was slow to answer, her voice still thoughtful and calculating when she finally did. “Yes, you may, on condition,” without waiting for Bieva to ask she thundered on, “you will marry Maiene dau she Poiene tai wer Salema’s eldest boy.” The ennu lowered herself before her daughter and stared into her eyes, waiting for a direct challenge or protestation.

She swallowed thickly, quickly tumbling the ennu’s proposal in her head. Why was she being challenged so, she asked herself. Could her mother have possibly known about her and Desoke? 

“I will keep him here until I surrender my position. They say the men in the holding bays are especially vicious to each other, they require some of our best guards,” Feva-ennu said without blinking, staring directly at her daughter. “And if you release him, I know a few women with deep pockets and questionable morals. A man in robes like his won’t be able to refuse their offers, but I’m sure his experience will suit him well to their tasks.” 

The words were said slowly and deliberately. She knows, Bieva quietly accepted. “I’ll do it,” she whispered. “By Yeine’s gray ass, I’ll do it, just release him to me.” 

Feva stood up and sighed. “Finally, Bieva, I’m quite baffled why it took this long.” She turned, signaled her guards and moved toward the doors. “I’ll inform Maiene of your decision, but of course you are to visit your betrothed, Bieva. Make sure to give him something, boys go out of their heads for gifts.” She threw open the doors and was gone. 

Kitke had gone beyond confused and shut down. Her small head hung, her hands in her lap. Bieva felt terrible for the girl. The force of her mother regularly ruined her life, but she was going to tear this girls life apart for her own motives. Bieva thought about that and decided she was wrong, her mother did not ruin lives for ruin sake. She did it for Darr. As she was supposed to. But she wondered could she ever be so cruel herself? 

“I wouldn’t want a mother if I had one,” Kitke sniffled quietly. 

“I don’t want one either,” Bieva sighed. She stood up, adjusting her tunic. “Come, I’ll take you to see your father before settling in.” She did not know if she was allowed to do that, but did not care in the moment. 

“But I’m to stay here, with you?” The girl asked. 

“Yes,” Bieva nodded, “I thought you weren’t listening,” she sighed. “You will still have your father. I could do that much.” 

“Are you going to be my mother?”

It wasn’t the question that caused Bieva to freeze but the fiery look of hatred in her eyes when she said mother. 

“No…no,” Bieva swallowed and gathered her thoughts. “I will be your teacher. I will teach you to become a great woman for Darr.”

“Can my father do that? And we can go home to Ueino-medre?”

“Your father is…a boy,” Bieva said without knowing what to say, “only women can help you become a woman.”

Kitke nodded like she had realized something, “he is a boy,” she said almost to herself, and said nothing else as Bieva escorted her from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desoke deals with his past, while Bieva fights to keep his future together.

“You are a treasure, Desoke, never forget that. Here in Darr more than anywhere else in the world, you will be held as a treasure.”

Desoke often wondered what type of man his father was. A quarter Maroneh, the rest of him Darre. He was browner than anyone in their village, often saying he was touched by Itempas. His hair had a bit more fluff to it than the other Darre. Desoke watched him as he prepared in the mornings, schooling his hair to be in fashion as best he could. He had what appeared to be two smooth stones each etched in gods words. One he ran over the top of his hair; the other under. Both at the same time, working together. Each pass took the fluff out of his hair, the newly glossy strands falling down his back, the tighter curl of it gone. 

He asked his father where he had gotten the stones, but his father only replied “A man is to have his mysteries if he is to survive.” That proved true, Desoke found. He kept the truth of his fathers death close to his chest, beating soft and slowly, a quiet truth that fueled him throughout his early life. 

Once again he would have to refer to his fathers teachings. Serenely sitting, cross legged, on the floor of his cell beneath the Raringa, Desoke schooled himself calm. Keep my mysteries mine, for I am a treasure. He knew the women of Darr had always considered their men important. His father told him stories of days when Darr had to have their men fight in wars, a desperate time indeed. A time women regretted losing precious boys to war. It was a woman’s job to keep him safe, his father told him, and his job to remember that. 

“Are you praying?” A woman’s voice rang out, clear and interested. 

“I often pray,” Desoke responded with eyes closed, ignoring the strangeness of the voice. One old man was locked in with him, and all the women were gone, the old man must have been playing odd tricks. “What is a man without his gods?” 

“And just who do you pray to?” The voice asked, pressing down on him like actual weight. He began to worry, but centered himself by focusing on his still body, sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor with his eyes closed. 

“My father was touched by Itempas, or at least he thought so. Some of his people were Maro. The Maro love Itempas, so I pray to him for order and light to my life.” Desoke swallowed, taking a breath, feeling a familiar presence lurking the floors, his skin prickled in warning, yet his instinct told him to continue. “My mother honored Lady Yeine everyday of her life for her many blessings and love for Darr. And, out of respect I mention the Nightlord, but not too much, my father told me invoking such a god is not wise.” 

“What a wise mortal,” the voice trilled. Desoke could feel that presence move toward him, something rapped against the metal bars accented with a heavy wooden lock. It was tale that a man could go mad beating at the lock until his knuckles were bloody and ruined, falsely believing he could break the wood. A puff of stale air carrying the scent of foul, rotten food wafted around him. He shuddered and moved to open his eyes, dreading what he might find. “Keep them closed,” the voice growled into his ear. “And tell me, who else you pray to.”

Desoke’s breath caught tight in his chest. He felt a shudder of revulsion. Why now? How? He stilled himself like he wished he had done all those years ago during his first encounter with the godling he knew was lurking over him. 

“No answer, my hungry one?” The greedy godling never touched Desoke, but he felt her tongue trace the curve of his cheek. He smelled her putrid scent, rotting meat and something burnt that he couldn’t place. “I still feel your hunger,” she laughed, “how is that possible?”

“I pray to Lady Zhakkarn,” Desoke answered her first question. “Darr owes many lives to her.” 

“No one else?” The voice laced with want and hunger hissed. 

“Those are the only ones, anyone else and…” 

“And what?” The voice became excited. 

Desoke swallowed thickly against the sick rising in his stomach. “And they might show up.” 

He opened his eyes. 

Remembering the first time he prayed, a lifetime ago, Desoke sat just like he did in his cell under the Raringa. Around him he had placed all of his fancies. The fur over robe his father was able to get him for the winter, shiny lake stones that resembled the jewels he truly wanted, and a warriors knife for the future wife he hoped to have. He called no name in particular, not knowing that was how he was to go about things, just sat in a praying position amongst his prized possessions, happily envisioning more to come. No one had come immediately, neither did he expect them to. He was thirteen, with a mother who spoiled his doting father. There was a certain way he expected a boy to be treated, and he prayed to have those needs fulfilled. 

He knew nothing of enulai’s, godlings, or magic. He encountered a stray gods word etched into something for a mystic effect. But even those were rare, and kept secret to the holder. So when an Amn woman in a dress the color of clotted blood stepped into the moonlight seeping through his bedroom window, he didn’t question why that was a very bad thing. He just knew that an Amn woman appearing in his bedroom tucked away in the high north had to be magic and she just must be a godling. The sets of laws between humankind and gods that were being violated in that moment, he didn’t have a clue about. His attention was on the emaciated woman that slowly circled him and his things he wanted with a surprising hunger. 

She had offered him the world, and the world she gave him, until he discovered that the only world he had known was very, very small. That the fishing village of his birth was just a stop along for important passengers to important places. Compounds were built on stilts. Houses connected by sturdy decks, designed to hover above the highest recorded flood. The lake that provided habitable land for the village, with plenty of water fowl and deer who were drawn in by the lake, as well as plentiful fish, was just a small outlet for a slightly larger river that lead to a much larger river and eventually an even bigger ocean. But the scope of Desoke’s world was very small. It alighted on things that made him happy. 

Until they didn’t anymore

The second time the godling who introduced herself as Lil met Desoke she found him older, only slightly. Human ages did not make much sense to her, they all wanted the same thing at the same time, just in different stages. But Desoke was different. He was wild with want. The Semnite continent was full of ambitious people, most of the power hungry being Amn, but this was different. His want had a sweetness to it, an innocence that begged to be savored. The new mortal stage was boring, and a bright spot wafted across her vision, so she went to him, without permission. But, his want upon their second meeting was tinged with something else. 

Each mistake Desoke ever made, he made with a genuine heart. He learned how to lie later in life, but his early life was filled with colossal, honest mistakes. Most of them he made because of Lil’s influence, but that didn’t stop them from hurting any less. 

“Why are you here?” Desoke whispered. “You can’t be here right now!” He whipped his head around the cell, looking for the old man. “What did you do to him?”

Lil waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine.” She devoured him with her stare, a smile growing on her maw of a mouth. “I’ve figured out these new laws you have, and I’m very good at getting around them. He’ll wake when I leave with no knowledge that we spoke.”

“And why do you need to speak to me?”

Lil shrugged her shoulders and plopped down in front of him, mimicking his posture. “Don’t you miss me, Desoke?” She laughed, a deep, ugly sound that carried that smell of rot. 

“You ruined my life!” Desoke spat at her. “I couldn’t miss you if I lived for a thousand years!” 

Lil rolled her eyes. “I remember a time when you were happy to see me. It wasn’t that long ago either.” She sighed a puff of rancid air, fixing her craving stare directly into Desoke. “You mortals, if only Enefa had gifted you just a few centuries more on this planet, maybe you’d really learn forgiveness. I’ve tried to eat half of my siblings, and we all still love each other…more or less.” Her eyes darted around the room then she shrugged.

“Who’s Enefa?” Desoke blurted. 

“Still hungry for knowledge I see! Good good!” Lil clapped like a child. 

“You know what? Don’t tell me, just leave me be. Please?” He would have used his best pleading voice, the one that worked so well on Ueino, but regular things didn’t work on godlings. They had different tastes, Desoke had learned. 

Lil wanted whatever Desoke wanted, or at least that’s what he thought when he first invoked her. She wanted his want. His need for better things. His hunger, she called it. He had learned that she usually stalked the Semnite continent, preying on the several cultures of greedy people there. But, the change in power over generations there left her starving for something she couldn’t give herself. 

“Only one other person has ever prayed to me before you,” Lil said, “and I’m sure she’s dead now.” 

“I never meant to pray to you,” Desoke retorted. 

Lil’s dark eyes flashed. Her pale, sickly skin went a shade lighter, and her wide mouth dropped open, the jaw hitting the floor. Her tongue whipped around wildly as the teeth in her gaping mouth began to churn and circle it’s length. Desoke hopped up from the floor, hand over his mouth so not to scream too loudly. 

“Do you not think I care for you, Desoke? Yours is the only meal I’ve had in decades! I savor my meals, and those who feed me. I do not take that lightly.” Nothing moved save for her pale blonde hair, whipping like her tongue in her own personal hurricane. 

“I don’t know what that means!” Desoke yelled, forgetting that he should remain quiet so the guards wouldn’t come rushing in. “You show up and take from me! Take until I’m empty! You took my father! And I was so numb I couldn’t care! All you ever gave me was that wretched wife, and you only did it so I would still need things. Still need you! And you fed off of that. You ate my unhappiness, and continued to make sure you had a meal!” 

“Shhhhh, do you want them to come in?” Lil chuckled, her mouth still on the ground. 

“Yes! I want everyone to see that your here! Why not? Why continue to let you ruin my life? Guards!” Desoke shouted into the air. “Guards! There’s a…THING here! Help!” 

Lil rolled here eyes, and got to her feet, putting her face back to its regular ugliness, but a frown replaced the sly grin she once had. “You may hate me, my little hungry one, but you will remember our deal. You owe me your tears, and your wants. I don’t care if I have to take them from you, they are mine.” 

Desoke feared this day from the first moment he dared to dream for his daughter. He wanted nothing more for himself than food and a place to sleep, anything more was too extravagant. Fanciful wants were a thing of his childhood, long lost and too out of reach. Lil faded from view as the sound of approaching guards grew louder. The old man sharing the cell snorted awake, looked at him cowering against a wall, and rolled back over. 

The guards shouted at him to be quiet, calling him several undignified names, but he didn’t care. He’d heard worse, from worse women that still wanted him. He saw the looks in their eyes, the same stares he got at the sharing house, and shrugged off their disdain. He resettled in the center of the floor, trying to calm his nerves, but he was shaking far too much for it to work. He needed to see Kitke, that was his only concern. 

“Father!” A little voice cried and Desoke nearly jumped out of his skin with joy. Kitke pressed herself into the bars of his cell, trying to hug him and he her. “I want to go home,” he sobbed. 

“We will, I promise,” he soothed, his heart filling with inexplicable joy and sadness all at once. 

“Feva-ennu says I live here now,” the girl cried. 

“What?!” Desoke pulled away from his daughter and looked to the woman who escorted her in. 

She was pretty, more than pretty. Brown skin made browner by the sun. Her hair was cropped close to her head, efficient for a warrior. But wisps of the cut laid artfully on her forehead and nape. Her brown eyes danced across Desoke’s face, a pitiful smile tugged at her full lips nestled into a squarish jaw. 

“What does she mean? This is all a misunderstanding, and I will be released, right?” Desoke asked, hating how much he sounded like he was pleading. 

The guard approached the cell and knelt next to Kitke, peering directly into Desoke. “You will be released, but you will not return home,” she said. “I am sorry, Desoke-wo,” she spoke the honorific with respect, and Desoke flinched at its mention. “The ennu has ordered your girl to remain here, and be trained as a warrior for our country. I did what I could, but there was not much to be done. Instead of punishment, the ennu has released you to my household as a servant.” 

A tangle of emotion knotted in Desoke’s throat, he opened his mouth to speak, and closed it, too shocked to say anything. He tore his eyes away from the woman, Bieva, he knew it to be her, and fixed them on Kitke. The confusion was apparent on her little face, he cried at the sight of it. 

“I’ve failed you,” he whispered to her through his tears. “I am so sorry."


	5. Unfit for Servitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desoke deals with the decisions being made for him, and navigates how to do best by his daughter.

Too many times Ueino had solicited Desoke to come to her bed. It was the reason Prulo, her assistant, had pulled him from a tavern and brought him to the sharing house. Prulo was getting old, and needed to replace himself. It got easier as time went on. Ueino wasn’t selfish nor hard on him. She did him favors that garnered a few jealousies but nothing too serious for him to handle. 

In the days after his arrest, Desoke expected to see Ueino. For her to show up and rescue him. He was prepared to thank her in whatever way pleased her. But, she never came. No one did, not Lil nor the godling that gave him the elaborate robes that he couldn’t remember. He listened for the faintest sounds, boots clopping down corridors, wind rustling through rooms. Anything that would signify someone coming to help him. They never did, no one ever comes. It was something Desoke had learned in his 19 years. People and godlings alike loved to have him, but never were they there when he needed them. 

Someone needed him now, and he planned to be there for her. Not the new household he moved into, he could care less what they needed though it was his job. Kitke needed him, and he would show the world what it was like to truly care for someone. Show Kitke that even though he failed her, he could try to make it up to her. 

She wasn’t in their new home currently, but at the training grounds with several women. They had all stopped by the grand house to greet and welcome her. It was a sight Desoke never thought he would see. Other women embracing his daughter as their own. Kitke had forgotten her fears after that, leaving Desoke to worry all by himself. In a way, he was happy for her. In another life he would have been able to somehow provide this for her, maybe through a wife or rich benefactor. But they had taken her away from him, the one person who would have never left him. Sorrow still laid on him like heavy winter robes. He cried for days, barely sleeping during the nights. His father would roll in his grave if he could see him. 

The house was settled into a grand portion of Arrebaia. A stately home built high on a hill, surrounded by other beautiful houses filled with well to do Arrebaians. The house had four other servants, all boys almost as young as Kitke. They peeked into Desoke’s quarters, whispering to each other what they thought was wrong with him, as he laid in bed and refused to leave. There wasn’t a man of the house to order him around. Just Bieva, who never forced him to do anything, as that would have been her husband’s job, and she did not have one. 

The servant boys left him food on the small wooden table by his door, saying small words of encouragement as they did sometimes. One day the two oldest caught him in a sitting position, and took that as an invitation to come in and talk to him. Their hair was braided into two long ribbons that ran over their shoulders. At most, Desoke guessed the oldest to be ten. 

“You don’t have to hate it here,” the oldest boy said to him, inching into the room. When he saw Desoke didn’t protest his presence, he moved freely around the room. Opening windows and tidying up. 

“Don’t do that, you don’t have to clean for me,” Desoke said in his most fatherly voice with his head hung between his knees. But the child insisted. 

“Bieva-ennu likes a clean home,” the boy with a smile on his face. 

Desoke had seen that smile in the sharing house, he was nicely warning him to watch his step. He nodded in thanks, but didn’t move. His body wasn’t yet prepared for that. Also, he was still mulling over what the boy said. 

“So she is ennu?” 

“Didn’t you know that when they brought you here?” The other boy said, walking toward Desoke and taking his hair into his small hands. “Your hair is thick,” he said with fascination that reminded him of Kitke. “Can I braid it?”

Desoke nodded and the boy excitedly climbed onto the bed, standing behind him and beginning his work. “Thank you. And no, I didn’t. I usually don’t ask who or what they are.”

The oldest boy gave him a bewildered look. His eyes flicked up and down Desoke’s whole person, and he placed down the dishes he had gathered, to fold his arms across his chest and face Desoke. “Where do you come from?” 

The authority the boy carried was warming to Desoke, he couldn’t understand why, but he liked the way the boy took charge. He chuckled at him, but decided to tell him the truth. He was a child, but a servant, he would have to wise up to the world quicker than other children. 

“What’s your name, baby boy?” Desoke asked. 

“Bibu,” he said in the same tone of authority. “That’s Jeno, he’s my cousin. Why?” 

“My name is Desoke, Bibu. It’s polite to ask someone’s name when first meeting,” Desoke said, sitting up straighter as Jeno’s little hands began to tug at his hair. “To answer your question, I come from the sharing houses.”

Jeno stopped the parting Desoke’s hair down the middle and brought his little face around to peer into Desoke’s. He laughed, though he didn’t mean to. His little face was inches from Desoke’s, eyes flicking all over him. Bibu’s mouth fell open in a perfect O, but he quickly closed it again. 

“Yes, the sharing houses,” Desoke answered the unasked question. “I won’t tell you what it was like, but it’s the truth.” 

“But you’re so pretty,” Jeno gawked. 

Desoke tilted his head back and laughed, full bodied and loud. “Well thank you, Jeno. That’s very nice of you. But I can see you boys have a healthy fear of the sharing houses like you should. That’s good, keep that with you. It’ll serve you well.” 

“Would no woman have you?” Bibu asked, not as bossy as before, a touch of worry had colored his voice. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Desoke told him, respecting him enough to not to scare him. “I won’t trouble you with the story.” 

“Ooooooh a story!” Jeno jumped on the bed behind him, his little voice filled with childish wonder. 

“Jeno! He can’t tell us that! It’s…it’s…” Bibu’s eyes flicked around and the room for the right word, “nasty.”

Desoke’s eyes went wide but instantly softened with the laugh that rocked his body. He hadn’t really laughed so much in years. The sharing houses came with fake smiles and laughs each night. They were once a struggle to put on because Lil ate his emotions leaving him numb to everything around him. “By all the gods, I don’t think I’ve ever been called nasty.” 

Desoke enjoyed children. He knew they never meant to be brash, but couldn’t help it. The honesty was a bit refreshing, even if it was at the expense of his self-esteem. He never put much thought into it, but Desoke realized that he might like to have a son. Kitke was more than he could have hoped for, but the government wouldn’t have conscripted a boy. If he had a son, he could of had him all to hisself, the way it was supposed to be. Jeno began parting his hair again, apparently deciding he wasn’t too nasty after all, and Desoke closed his eyes and let him work. 

“How about I tell a story about something that isn’t nasty?” Desoke said, relaxing under the small, but skilled fingers. The braids were a touch too tight, but he knew they would preserve longer that way. His father braided his hair every night before he went to sleep, he hated it then, but felt sweet nostalgia at the tugging of his hair. 

Jeno bounced happily but didn’t stop flipping ropes of hair over and under. Bibu eyed him cautiously but pulled out the stool from the table and sat down, forgetting the plates and cups. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, thinking of a story to tell. He told Kitke all types of stories that he made up, and she would laugh at them until she fell asleep. But, he had something else in mind for the boys. 

“There was once a very poor woman, who loved a very beautiful man. She never thought he would love a woman such as her, but that did not stop her from trying. She left him small gifts that she made at the door of his Beba’s house. Sang him songs when she passed him in the market. She let the world know of her love and the man loved her for it. Eventually they married, though they were young. But that is the best time to marry, for young love has the chance to blossom to something even more precious. 

"The woman was poor but she was not afraid of work. She worked for anyone that would hire her, finding herself on a fishing boat for long hours each day. She brought home the smell of fish, and food for her growing family. They were both very happy, and very much in love. Not surprisingly, she soon gave birth to a child. A son.

"It’s not a secret the Darre prize their daughters, but there is love for their sons as well. The couple loved their boy, pampered and spoiled him until he grew vain and greedy. Just like his father, the boy was very beautiful. But, he had learned to prize gifts over people, where his father prized people over gifts. So as the boy grew older, he began to pray for gifts. He prayed to no one in particular, just a fervent hope that things would come to pass. He did this prayer every night for months. Spreading his prized things around him and wishing for more to come. 

"Well, prayers like that never go unheard. No matter if you think they do or not. Some god or another has heard. Many choose not to respond, they don’t need too, but on this occasion, one did. And not just any god, the worst one.”

“Nahadoth,” Bibu whispered, fully focused on Desoke’s serene face. 

“Well no, though that would have been a much worse option.” Desoke amended, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. But this one was his child. A special kind of child among the gods. They call her kind elontid.“

"E-long…what?” Jeno blurted, his fingers blazing away at Desoke’s hair. 

“Elontid, it means unstable…or so I’m told it does,” Desoke reminisced. “She looks Amn. Pale white skin wrapped around her frail bones. Her mouth dangles open, and her teeth churn like a butchers grinder.” The boys gasped. “She hungers for the sweetest meal, though her tastes are off, so sweet to her is deadly us.”

“What did she want from the boy?” Bibu asked, eyes wide with curiosity. 

“Everything,” Desoke said after swallowing thickly. “She said she would like to eat him when she first appeared, to taste all of the hope and want in him. But, there are laws now, laws that even a godling cannot cross. So she couldn’t eat him, but parts of him she could taste until they were gone. She licked at his wants, nibbled at his happiness, and drank his tears until they were gone. She emptied him, and filled herself, only keeping him alive to have a legal meal that she actually enjoyed. 

"What was worse was what she did to get her meal out of him. She made the boy believe she would give him the world for praying to her. But what she gave was tarnished and as gross as she was. To furnish his want of riches, she gave him a wife, but not one he wanted. The boy’s mother had arranged a pleasing arrangement between the captain of her fishing boat…” The sound of a rowdy flock of girls ricocheted through the halls, the faint trails of it halted Desoke’s tongue. 

Noticing his pause, Bibu glanced at the door, “Oh, the girls are back.” He sighed heavily, rueful eyes lingering on Desoke as he slowly stood up. “Will you tell us the ending tonight?” 

“Oh, umm, yes,” Desoke muttered, then realized the question, distracted by the sounds of multiple girls. “Actually, it’s quite a long story, it may take several nights.”

“Yaaaaaaay!” Jeno sang, clapping his little hands together. He had finished Desoke’s hair and hopped off the bed. He stood by Desoke’s knee in plain linen pants and tunic, soft soled slippers the only thing covering his feet. He gave him that look that children give when they decide they like you. “C'mon we have to begin mealtime!” He smiled at him, tugging on one of his hands. 

There were a few children in the sharing house, boys and girls, and plenty of them gravitated toward Desoke and Kitke. He lost count of how many times he would turn around and find at least five children tagging along behind him while doing his daily activities. Most of the men shooed them away, assigning them a menial task that only kept them busy. Desoke let them stay, teaching them to do whatever he was doing at the time. Whether it was his hair, or hemming a robe, he figured boys and girls needed to know how to keep themselves and their home together. The look on Jeno’s little face made him miss those children, but Kitke was here, amongst the loud girls making a ruckus on the lower levels on the house. He had to trust the children of the sharing house had fathers who loved them as much as he loved Kitke, and would protect them as he did his own. 

Desoke stood up, taking Jeno’s little hand in his own and the boy tagged along like it was something he’d always done. “Bibu, who are these girls?” Desoke asked, checking the small mirror on the wall. It wouldn’t do, and he would have to work out a replacement, but he kept it to himself for the moment. 

“Students of Bieva-medre,” Bibu said, reassuming his bossy tone. “They don’t have mother’s or homes, so she takes them in. Spends all day with them too, but that’ll change.”

“And why is that?” They made their way down carpeted stairs, taking servant passages until they reached the largest kitchen Desoke had even seen. 

Bibu told him that Bieva would be taking the position of ennu, officially, in days time. Feva-ennu was stepping down, being old and tired from having served her people faithfully for many years, and passing the title to her daughter. Desoke didn’t ask questions, just listened while Bibu told him more than he could have guessed to ask. Bieva was ennu. He had been with her. A vain glow of pride at the ennu choosing him lit up his chest. Quickly he chased the feeling away, shame flooding him almost instantly. He had trained himself not to feel those feelings, and for a long time it worked. If he didn’t feel that way, Lil had nothing to eat, and he would not see her. It had been years, but those feelings seemed to be returning. He sighed , not knowing what to do. He hated the way it felt, to be numb to his own life, but it kept him safe. Kept Kitke safe. 

Desoke followed Bibu into the kitchens with Jeno trailing at his side. His fancy robes had been left to him and he tucked them away in his room. He was used to the simple linens that the servants had to wear, usually only wearing loose linen pants in the sharing house, but he missed the feeling of exquisite fabrics and how he looked in them. The other two servants were in the kitchen, and looked at him with surprise when he walked in. They would have all matched if Desoke wasn’t several feet taller than them. All simple linens and slippers, each sporting long braids. 

“Hello boys,” Desoke greeted them happily, erasing their shock at seeing him. They both waved back in response. 

“Eti, have you set out the serry flower juice?” Bibu asked, ignoring their stares at Desoke. 

“Oh, umm, yes. Yes I have,” Eti said, fumbling a glass in his hands. “On the table. We might need more, the girls are tearing into it quickly.” 

Bibu nodded. “Has Oralo arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” said the other boy who was using a wooden spoon to stir a thick juice in a pitcher. “But I heard the girls laughing about him coming soon. They say they saw Bieva-medre’s carriage outside his home. He should be visiting here soon.” 

Bibu turned Desoke. “Today is a special day. Bieva-ennu is showing her home to her betrothed. So we must make sure all is well.” 

Desoke almost sputtered. She was also engaged to be married? He wasn’t shocked that he’s been with an engaged woman, that was common. But, he could usually tell. She seemed different that night he met her. Quickly shaking that thought from his head, Desoke nodded. He refocused his thoughts on Kitke. 

“Are we to wait on the girls as well?” Desoke asked. 

“Yes, drink and light refreshment until mealtime.” Bibu told him. 

“I know where they are playing at, do you want to see?” Jeno asked at his side. 

“We don’t have time for that, Jeno,” Bibu told him in his bossy tone. 

“I’m sure the girls will appreciate something to eat after training all morning,” Desoke answered him, not really knowing if that was true but needing to find his daughter. He began to place cups and platters on a tray with a pitcher of serry flower juice and snacks one of the boys had prepared. “Lead the way Jeno,” Desoke instructed when he was finished. 

Without waiting for bossy Bibu to tell him not to, Desoke pushed off after Jeno with a tray laden with random refreshments. Jeno skipped through the corridors, happily humming as he went. He led them through a series of long and well furnished hallways, ending in a lovely courtyard in the center of the large compound. Five girls, all different heights and ages, shuffled around each other. Desoke realized that two of them were dueling while the others formed a circle and cheered. 

One girl was lanky, with knobby elbows and knees, her hair chopped below her ears. She carried a wooden staff, sweeping it out at the other girl with oddly rhythmic motions. The second girl was much smaller, only five going on six soon. Desoke’s heart twisted in his chest to see his little girl dodge and strike at a girl twice her height and size with such ease. She really took to her training in the short time she had been receiving it. 

Desoke cleared his throat. “Well well, brave ladies, let’s save our strengths for the real bouts later on, and replenish what we lost now.” He set the tray down on a small wooden table surrounded by a few outdoor chairs. 

Four girls blazed past him, jumping on the tray’s contents with vigor. Kitke jumped into her fathers arms, happily telling him all she had learned. Desoke whisked her away to a corner to talk to her, but she continued to tell him about her time with Bieva. She looked happy and well taken care of. Desoke couldn’t find one complaint about her state, save for the fact that he was now her servant and not her father. But no government could really take that away from him. He would always be her father as long as she ran to him and told him of her day. As long as she he got to hold her and listen. He couldn’t afford the lifestyle she was now getting, and to take that away from her would weigh on him for the rest of his life. Without saying a word, Desoke decided they would both stay and he would allow her to train. It made her happy, and he couldn’t deny her happiness. 

He calmed her rapid chatting and released her to play with her new friends, as she called them, and sat on a bench on the opposite side of the courtyard. Jeno plopped next to him, crossing his legs and leaning forward to rest his elbows in his lap. Desoke quickly realized the boy was mimicking him. The turbulent storm in his mind ebbed a bit as he struggled not to giggle at the boy. 

“Do you know her?” Jeno asked, his little voice full of curiosity. 

“I do,” Desoke sighed. “Can you keep a secret?” 

Jeno nodded so hard Desoke was worried he might hurt his neck. 

“She’s my daughter,” Desoke said in a exaggerated whisper. 

Jeno’s small features lit up and he gasped. “You had a baby?” He squeaked drawn back in shock. 

Desoke nodded. “Yes I did, another life ago it feels like.” 

“What’s that mean?” Jeno asked. 

“It means a long time ago,” Desoke sighed looking at his playful daughter take charge amongst her friends. He pulled his eyes away from her and looked down at Jeno. He was small and brown. A bit lighter than Desoke. A happy copper color that suited him. His small features were schooled into a calm and happy expression that made Desoke wonder. “Jeno, where are your parents?” 

He shrugged. Legs still crossed with his hands in his lap. “Bibu is my family. That’s all I know.” 

Desoke nodded. The childish happiness left his voice for a moment, so he didn’t press the matter. Though, he did feel an odd weight settle in his chest at the thought of Bibu and Jeno all alone in the world. It pained him to think it, but Kitke would never be alone. She was a girl, Darr would always make sure she had a home. But these boys, these boys would never get the same treatment. 

“Girls! Attend!” A strict shout ricocheted around the courtyard, and the loudly chatting girls all dropped their food and cups to rush toward the sound. 

Desoke’s head whipped in the direction of the sound. There was Bieva in her black military outfit like the night he met her. She was Darre Brown with dark eyes that glinted with a kindness she did not allow in her voice. Her short cut hair added to her officialness. She looked like the ennu, official and full of authority. But also very beautiful because of those reasons. Desoke smiled at her and she looked at him. Her face went blank as she locked eyes with him instantly and turned away. Her words fumbled over each other for a few seconds as she addressed the girl’s and then she cleared her throat. 

Reaching behind her, she escorted a richly dressed young man to her side. His robes were black with many leather buckles and straps, with a red under robe stylishly peeking from the top and bottom of the elaborate outfit. His hair was long and shiny, reaching his back, blowing ever so slightly in the midday breeze. 

Desoke couldn’t help but to think what he would of done differently, if he were being courted by the ennu. He wouldn’t have worn such a smug look on his face. Also, he would have oiled his hair so that that breeze carried his scent with it. Little things that women noticed and loved. It was clear to Desoke that Oralo was just a pampered clanson who knew nothing about the art of seduction. He was simply lucky, born into the right family with the right connections. He was pretty, but not playing his part to the best of his ability. He was simply…there, and proud of himself for being so. Desoke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

The girls fluttered around him, telling him that he was pretty and nice. He took it in stride, with a smile so fake it could break. Kitke reached to touch his robe and Oralo stepped back while laughing, covertly brushing his over robe off while talking with her. Desoke instantly disliked him. 

Jeno stayed by Desoke’s side, eyeing the man with adoration. So it took Desoke by surprise when he looked up at him and whispered, “You’re prettier than him.” 

Desoke laughed, full and loud. His voice carried around the courtyard making all the inhabitants look at him with concern, even Kitke. He corrected himself, stood up tall and clasped his hands in front of him and looked straight forward, barely keeping the smile off his face. 

Bieva took the girls back over to the table, joining in on the refreshments. Oralo followed her halfway until he whispered something in her ear and split off, walking toward Desoke and Jeno. Bieva’s eyes lingered on Oralo, a concerned expression on her face, but she didn’t stop him. Desoke stayed where he was, feeling nothing more than mild dislike. 

“Boy,” Oralo said in a haughty tone. 

“Yes, Oralo-wo?,” Jeno answered. 

“Not you, you,” Oralo barked, looking directly at Desoke. 

Desoke’s barely contained smile went flat in an instant. To keep his composure he nodded in response. 

“Are you not able to speak? I hear you can laugh,” Oralo said, the sneering face he made took all the prettiness right out him.

“I was laughing with the Jeno,” Desoke told him, his voice flat.

Desoke had never liked boys like Oralo. The proper kind with their noses in the air. The buckles and straps of their elaborate robes jangling as they went. They were rude, casting about comments of those they disapproved of loud enough for the other to hear. It told Desoke that they never had to struggle for anything. Never had to ask for food, or take it. Everything in their lives was handed to them and they judged others on who handed them their things. 

He also knew that he would have been just like them if he had grown up rich and married rich, like he so wanted at one time. A few of the men from the sharing houses were once proper clansons. Boys who were either too ugly or unruly to marry. Perhaps they had courted a foreign woman, or sired daughters with many women before their mother’s grew tired of them. They forever carried their entitlement with them, and looked down on the rest of the men. Prissy little creatures with nothing going for them but their assumed prettiness, which mostly came from money. Without it, they weren’t much to look at and fared poorly in the houses. 

Oralo knelt down, “boy, tell Oralo-wo what this strange man said to you,” Oralo said, switching tones abruptly and sounding sickly sweet. 

“The boy told me I was prettier than you, I saved you insult by laughing,” Desoke blurted, eyes burning into Oralo. 

The prissy clanson gasped, eyes snapping to the child. 

“You cannot blame a child for speaking the truth, that is what they do,” Desoke said, not letting him respond. 

Oralo whipped his scrunched, angry face back to Desoke, springing back to his full height as he did. “Such wise words coming from a whore,” Oralo spat the words at him, but a devious smile played on his lips as he loosed them. 

The escorts from the Raringa to Bieva’s new estate explained several times what was to be expected of him. A servant. He was to behave as servants did, and respect his household. But, laying in his bed, Desoke had mulled over could he ever adjust to this life. He had grown accustomed to being in the sharing house. It was his best option, and he knew it from the start. He had as much control over his life that any man could. He lived under Ueino, but many men lived under a woman, usually his Beba, his mother, or his wife. That was common. But servitude was something he did not think he could take. Oralo’s proud, mean face solidified in Desoke the absolute certainty that he could not be a servant. 

His next actions were not his first or second reaction. He thought to himself on what to do. The proper thing to do would be to smile and ignore it. Apologize for offending him and excuse himself from the room. At best Oralo would not like his grace, but would accept his apology. The next feeling that passed through Desoke was to shout in the man’s face that he’d rather be a whore than a ugly bore from a family of thieves. He didn’t know if Oralo was from a family of thieves or not, but the insinuation would bother him to no end. 

Those did not suit his motivations. After calming thinking it over, Desoke balled his right hand into a fist, drew that fist back, and swung it with his full force into the left side of Oralo’s jaw. Jeno clapped both hands over his mouth, making a chirping noise. Desoke giggled as Oralo hit the soft grass of the courtyard. There in front of Bieva, and Kitke, Desoke decided to show each and every one of them that he would not stand for this abuse. 

He didn’t stop. It wasn’t the graceful anatun that he had learned and mastered. This was an angry, purposeful pummeling. A show that would tell everyone looking that he wasn’t some fragile man playing their game. It was freeing in a way he did not expect. A hand, that didn’t belong to Oralo for he was shielding his face with his own, grabbed a fistful of his hair from the back and yanked hard. He didn’t fight it, he knew someone would break it up eventually. He shut down and let the woman jostle him off of Oralo. He recognized Bieva’s pretty face and smiled up at her as she barked orders the the girls around her. 

She got her free hand locked around Desoke’s active arm and twisted it painfully behind his back and pulled him to his feet. A knee in his back shoved him forward and out of the the courtyard. He stumbled in a corridor, as the position was clumsy and awkward. Bieva let him go to his knees leaving him heaving. 

“That’s right,” he panted, slumped over but gazing at her through his hair. “Hurt me more than you already have. Grab me harder, break my hands. I’m yours to you toy with, right?” Desoke found himself surprised that he was so angry after such careful calculation, but he was brimming with his unsaid feelings. 

“This wasn’t my doing! And you’re making it worse! What would you have me do? Can’t you see this from my perspective?” Bieva shouted down at him, hands flying rapidly as she yelled. 

“NO!” He shouted back. “I’ll never be ennu, never be married to the ennu. There is nothing about your life that I can even begin to understand! I’d have you give me back my child and release me. That doesn’t seem hard for an ennu to do.” Desoke didn’t realize he was shaking until that moment. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep from rupturing at the seams. 

Bieva knelt in front of him, moving his hair back from his face and lifting his chin. He let her. He saw that sweet woman that wanted to know him when he first met her. The woman he never thought could be ennu. She stroked his cheek with her thumb, consoling him silently. 

“Why did you come to the sharing house that night?” He asked, his voice not able to rise above a whisper for the lump in his throat. 

She flinched like he pinched her, but didn’t move her hand. “I…I don’t know,” she stuttered. “I don’t know why I do a lot of things.”

“Me either,” Desoke muttered. “Kitke likes it here,” he said after a moment of silence passed.

“She does,” Bieva nodded. 

“I was going to runaway with her, but it seems cruel to take her away from a life I cannot give her,” Desoke said, tears clouding his vision. 

“Don’t runaway,” Bieva gently said to him. “Stay here and let me take care of you.” 

“As your servant? You can’t promise me that like this.” He moved out of her reach, still clutching himself. “I can’t be your servant. I’d rather be the whore you think I am.”

She moved closer, “please don’t say that. Have I treated you like a servant? A whore? I don’t demand anything, and I never will. Please just stay, and I promise you will have the life you dream of.”

“And what life do I dream of?” He asked, searching her face for truth. 

“Everyone dreams of a life of love and fulfillment.” She said, inching closer to him. 

“And what of your husband to be? You can’t have us both,” Desoke said. “You’ll have to punish me, won’t you?” He added as as he thought of it. 

“I’ll never punish you for anything. But let me handle him, and we can sort this all out later.” She said with confidence, like a true ennu. 

He didn’t know just when it happened but he found his lips pressing softly into hers, and she kissed him back. Her hands wound into his hair and she became hungry for him. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered as she moved to his neck. “I’ll make you mine one day, just stay with me.” 

That was something Desoke never heard before. He was popular at the sharing house, and he had been wanted before, but never with Bieva’s intensity. Her fire was undeniable. Darre through and through. He felt he could love her for that alone, so he gave himself to her, fully this time, throwing reservation to the wind and hoping against hope it did not blow back into his face.


End file.
